A Broken Prayer
by righthandup
Summary: A sort of what-if oneshot.. If Lily was a Seer. First story, so feel free to critique honestly. Thanks!


A Broken Prayer

**_Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep_**

Fallen- that was the word-into an abyss, one that pulled you in even as you pulled it.

For the umpteenth time, Tom Riddle had snapped. With the mirthless smile of a man who knows too much, he began to get ready. Routine, routine.

Oh, how wonderful to finally know. Finally. With the air of a expectant father, tiredly alert and cautiously happy, the Dark Lord set forth carrying only a wand and a gargantuan snake. He loved Nagini to witness his visits. He felt an insane pride in having her there.

What a wonderful visit this would be. Tom had been waiting...

**_Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep_**

Lily was tired of waiting. It had to be tonight. She couldn't live like this any longer.

Her eyes had taken a black flint to their usual sage, a result of sleep deprivation and adrenaline.

She looked a little like one of the drug users that had crept around her old neighborhood when she came back for summers with Petunia. With pupils nearing the point of obscuring all the color in their eyes, they'd skirted the edges of the lush dark green privet hedges, asking for money or talking to people that weren't there.

Lily wasn't _completely_ Muggle-born. Many, many generations back, there'd been a Seer in her family. They'd locked her up, confusing her vision with insanity. Lily now knew why. Apparently, along with her magic, she'd inherited a bit of the Sight too. Mostly it just amounted to occasional bad headaches and fuzzy voices. But somehow, it had sharpened during her pregnancy. Sharpened and foretold her family's death.

She hadn't slept since she had known. Her life had taken one purpose only; to save Harry. She and James must die. In Voldemort's mind, it was already done.

James would not die without an heir. That was a final gift to the husband she could give nothing else. Casting her eyes over Harry and James wearily, she let herself cry her tears of bitterness and desperation. They were asleep and wouldn't hear it.

Before she lost her bearings completely, she repeated a long-forgotten prayer whispered before sleep in the days she lived with Petunia and her parents. She sleepwalked and said in her dreams,

_"Now I lay me down to sleep._

_I pray the Lord my soul to keep,_

_if I should die before I wake,_

_I pray the Lord my soul to take."_

It was too late. Now there was nothing that could be done.

**_If I Should Die Before I Wake_**

Harry turned fitfully in his half-sleep.

He could feel only a comparative ounce of Lily's anguish, but that was enough to make him writhe.

His crib was safe. It smelt of baby powder and his father's cologne. The softness and warmth never changed, but he didn't feel safe anymore. The air reeked of anxiety. He cried out in the crib, certain his haven would become his deathbed.

One group of sounds replayed in his mind, fitting the soundtrack for the night. "_Now I lay me down to sleep..."_

**_Pray the Lord My Soul to Take_**

The awaited thud resonated throughout the Potter residence as James and Lily slept.

Harry awoke and toddled over to his mother. Lily found herself woken up by tiny Harry's wet thumb poking her in the nose. "Thank God," she thought, "It was only a dream."

Voldemort had gotten fed up with the niceties, so after another knock he simply blasted down the door.

"GIVE ME THE BOY!"

Lily was frenzied. No, no, it couldn't be Harry, not the only reason to stay alive! She wept and begged, trying to barter her life for his.

"FOOLISH GIRL!"

A flash of green light and all the life was drained from those unblinking, all-seeing green eyes.

"NO!" James lept and tried to knock Voldemort's wand from his hand. He did not make it, but as the last signs of life vanished from her eyes, he no longer cared.

"Kill me too! I've no more reason to live! Kill me too!" Voldemort was only too happy to oblige. With a flash of green light, James died the way he wanted to die: with Lily in his arms.

**_Amen_**

Another green light flashed. Harry was dead. Voldemort's job was done. An unfortunate moment of connection had occurred, but Tom brushed it off. Nothing would happen. It wasn't important. He had blasted the house and its inhabitants beyond repair, and that was what counted.

But, alas, he was wrong. Something in the Potter house was stirring. A tiny being curled tighter into himself within the rubble.


End file.
